


Emotionality

by horrendouslynumb



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, but we love him because he's the level headed constant gohan needs, flangst, gohan needs therapy, piccolo is a father figure and he's very uncomfortable about it, they both need help feeling emotions and i need help writing them so here we are
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2019-11-15 19:19:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18079382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horrendouslynumb/pseuds/horrendouslynumb
Summary: Gohan is in love and absolutely no one is equipped to handle a half-Saiyan with emotions. Or, Videl is in love and very angry about it. Or, both of them need therapy for very different reasons.





	1. Chapter 1

The first time he touched her was during the tournament. He'd just had to carry her to the infirmary, it was simple enough not to hurt her. Still, he held her like glass; she was so injured, he couldn't help it.

Gohan thought about that when he'd left her in the sky. His touch hadn't hurt her, but how could he be sure- she was half unconscious at the time. Ever since cell his suppressed rage affected his grip randomly. He'd broken glasses, lamps, logs, without even noticing, and often despite his best efforts to control himself.

Since then, he'd avoided touching people, to just lean into hugs instead of returning them, to nod instead of shaking hands. Some of it was definitely Piccolo's doing- touch wasn’t how he grew up expressing affection. And it had worked for seven years, with no overt repercussions other than a miffed mother and the occasional frustrated date. But now.

Now there was this girl. This abrasive, stubborn, obsessive, angry girl with the sharp mind and the sharper tongue and the heart that surprisingly well concealed for someone who wore all negative emotions on her sleeve. And she was brilliant, and she was kind and she took his breath away and his ribs contracted when he felt her power level fluctuate when he wasn't around.

It was this girl he was thinking of when he flew back to Kami's lookout, and it was this girl that compelled him to break his no touching rule and, very, very delicately, put a hand on her shoulder.

She turned her head to glance at the hand, then at him. He saw her eyes go wide, he heard her heartbeat pick up pace. Then she wrenched her shoulder away from him, spun around to face him and her eyes filled up with tears and he was worried he hurt her, he was going to kick himself, when she started yelling at him and that was better, and he could breathe again.

Gohan saw the others from the corner of his eye, Yamcha and Krillin and everyone grinning at him, and he would laugh and scratch the back of his head and be embarrassed about it. Except, she was about to cry and everything was terrible and all he wanted to do was hold her, but he was completely out of practice touching humans that he just couldn't risk it. So he just stood there, stumbling through apologies and choking out that he wished she wouldn't cry.

After she'd calmed down, after he promised to text her and that he wasn’t going to die anytime soon, after her father glared warily at her the whole time, and after she'd left with her father a la Goku's instant transmission, he only had a minute of peace to stare off the edge of the lookout and kick himself for how he handled that situation, when Yamcha sidled up with waggling eyebrows and questions.

Yamcha waited the appropriate ten seconds for an acknowledgement that he was pretty sure wasn't coming from his broody adopted nephew. Still, compared to Vegeta, Gohan was a very inviting, open book.

"Man, don't tell me the kids aren't even making out anymore these days," he started. He waited. Nothing. He tried another angle, "She seems nice, huh. You know, she cried herself sick over you." Gohan felt his throat tighten, but he didn't look Yamcha's way.

Yamcha stretched his arms to give the kid some time to speak. When his shoulders were nice and loose, unlike Gohan's tongue, he gave in and, with a deep breath, he risked a pounding at the hands of a bruised Saiyan ego, "Hey, kid, if you ever need any tips, you know, on making a move, you can always come to an old pro for some serious stuff, like, you know, holding hands, and-"

As expected, he was met with a glare that flashed teal and struck cold into his heart, but at least the gates of conversation had opened. Luckily, Gohan had both self control, and a disciplinary mother nearby, so he kept his hands to himself.

"I'm not," he almost growled, making the hair on Yamcha's arms rise. Man, use that on the girl and he was golden, "In the mood."

Yamcha responded with a trademark bastard grin, "Relax, kid, I could tell what was really up. And I'm your best chance for help in this ragtag group of murderers." Gohan stopped glaring. "Help with what?" he asked cautiously. Yamcha was ready for this hostility- he was going to help his friend's good natured, too-polite-for-his-own-good son, and that was that.

"Sure," he said, patting Gohan's arm bracingly, "I mean, it was obvious the way you looked at her."

Gohan tried and failed to raise an eyebrow, trying and failing to look indifferent. A hundred thoughts ran through his head at once. He thought staying stoic was working for him; how did Yamcha figure out that he was so worried he'd hurt her, if him and his family would attract another catastrophe, that he thought staying away was the best option, and it was only his own selfishness that let him know for sure that he'd never be able to do that for long.

"Yeah, kid," Yamcha continued, more or less unfazed by the one-sidedness of this conversation, "its okay. You're smart, you're tall, you're handsome. All the best of us get unwelcome admirers from time to time. The trick is just," he swung his arms for emphasis, "to smoothly ghost yourself out of her life, and hope to god she doesn't come after you." A thumbs up gesture and a genial smile was met by a baffled stare.

"You think," Gohan began slowly, "that she's unwelcome?"

A tingle in the back of his head told him this was a bad idea, but Yamcha carried on. This boy needed to let out some pent up aggression before he started locking himself in gravity rooms and stealing away blue-haired CEOs. "Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey," he comforted, "Just because you don't like her doesn't make you a bad person. And hey, I get it, I mean: aggressive, she wouldn't believe in aliens after talking to Piccolo, and her father-" Here he was cut off by Gohan walking away from him.

Huh. He was surprised. Saiyans usually didn’t walk away from someone insulting the object of their affections. Guess he wasn't serious about her after all. Too bad- he owed Krillin 2,000 zeni.

Gohan walked around for a while, slowly, finally settling on an isolated gazebo of white marble. He sat on a bench and opened his clenched fists. Knuckles white, blood under his fingernails. Well. They'd heal in an hour. He focused on his breathing; at least half the people on this lookout would have a problem with him beating up a human with a big mouth. Then he realized he definitely needed to calm down- it had been a while since he'd called one of his father's friends a human in his head. How Vegeta of him, he thought as he regulated his breathing. He was so caught up in his thoughts he barely registered his mentor's power source; he was oblivious till he heard the familiar gravelly voice that taught him to meditate in the first place.

"Let's-," Gohan looked up. Piccolo looked like he was having a hard time finishing that sentence, "…talk."


	2. Chapter 2

Sometimes the lookout was so quiet that even the wind that stopped far down below seemed deafening. This was not one of those times. Goku was busy dropping people off, and the group was slowly dispersing. Unfortunately, his best friend and father figure had no plans on leaving. It had been a minute and he refused to accept the silent treatment.

"What do you want, Piccolo?" Gohan asked, sullenly.

"Not here." Piccolo said, "Something tells me you won't be speaking much here." Piccolo nodded in Goku's direction. Gohan smiled despite himself. He'd been careful to hide it, but it felt nice that someone acknowledged how uncomfortable Goku made him.

"Yeah," He agreed. He floated up a few feet. "Race ya?"  
"So you can run away," Piccolo never missed a trick. "Just follow me." And he was off. Gohan glanced back at his mother- she was still gushing around her husband. He was happy for her, albeit surprised, and figured he wouldn't miss her. She was used to him disappearing for a few hours a time, by now, and Goku was there to confirm he was just with Piccolo. So he followed suit, without trouble.

The travel only took a few minutes. Gohan took a moment to appreciate the wind cutting through him. Then he took the remaining moments to figure out what Piccolo possibly had to say to him. Piccolo wasn't the most emotionally perceptive. Then again, neither was he, and he couldn't remember a time Piccolo hadn't helped him feel better after he'd gone to him. And he'd gone to Piccolo a lot the first two years after Cell.

They landed a couple continents away from the Lookout, landing near a softly flowing stream, with enormous, overhanging willows around them. Gohan made a mental note to come back here with his phone and mark it on the map. It was a nice place to take…. his thoughts.

Piccolo made himself comfortable- floating four feet above the ground, legs crossed under him. Gohan just lay down near him. He didn't realize how tense he'd been, being around all the same people that had been around all those years ago. He let out a deep breath.

"So," He started, beating Piccolo to the punch, "What's new?"

Piccolo didn't know how to begin, exactly. "I'm sorry. It can't be easy.. having him back."

Gohan shrugged, "Everyone's really happy about it. Goten's happy, Mom's happy, Krillin's happy…" he trailed off. He wouldn't bother putting up a front with Piccolo, but he was tired and he was lying down in the first time in what felt like forever and he didn't want to volunteer information that was going to make him sit up and be serious.

"I'm not." Gohan's eyes stung. He blinked rapidly to dispel the welling anger. Just breathe.

"Piccolo, it's okay. You've helped me so much. You, Bulma, Dende- I'm better now" He opened his eyes, "I'll manage."

"You can't live in that house." Piccolo was not asking.

Gohan thought about it, "I can't," He agreed. I think I'll get around it, though. Bulma keeps saying she wants me to live with her, anyway. I can take up some kind of intern position at Capsule Corp, or something, till college."

"Your mother?" This time it was a question. Not even Piccolo disregarded Chichi.

"She won't like it, but she knows not to fight me on this, I think."

"She does." He doesn't say what they're both thinking. Neither of them refer directly to the two years after Cell. About the self-harm and the rage and the earthquakes and volcanic explosions and the eight months he lived alone in the woods, not saying a word. About Chichi retreating so far into herself, they lived with Bulma till Goten was five, and by then Gohan had become accustomed to a life without curfews and schedules. Gohan never thought about it anymore, and Piccolo didn't bring it up.

"I'm here." Piccolo said, gruffer than usual. Gohan felt light. "I know." he said, "I wouldn't be okay otherwise."

"Okay."

"Okay." Gohan closed his eyes again. Hopefully, that was all he wanted to say.

For the next few minutes, Gohan and Piccolo coexisted. Gohan loved how easy this was; he'd always loved spending time with Piccolo, and as the years had passed he'd given up the constant chattering for the comfort of not needing to talk incessantly, and still feel close to him.

"One more thing," Piccolo eventually said, as though it had just occurred to him. Gohan had a vague feeling that wasn't quite true.

"What's up?" Gohan wondered if he was going to bring up Yamcha. Unlikely- Piccolo didn't really care if many people lived or died, so being rude wouldn’t even be on his radar.

Piccolo didn't respond immediately. Or after a pause. As the seconds ticked by, Gohan's curiosity piqued. This is how he'd imagined Piccolo would tackle puberty when he was ten. Thankfully, they never really needed to get around to that.

"The girl." Gohan sat up immediately. Well. What a day. Piccolo must love the hell out of him to breach this subject.

"What about her?" he was amused; he couldn't wait to see how Piccolo was going to handle this.

"Mate?" Apparently, he was going to maneuver the awkwardness by outrunning it. Very direct, very Piccolo.

Gohan didn’t hesitate to splutter a hasty, "No!"

"Why."

He cleared his throat, "No, I-I- I don't know, I mean," What did he even mean, he wondered, "I don't think I can."

"Saiyans… mate as readily as humans do." Piccolo stated, with distaste. Gohan was starting to wish they'd go back to discussing his prospective living arrangements.

"Um," his cheeks were pink, "They. Do."

"So?" Apparently, the awkwardness wasn't catching up to Piccolo as fast as he'd like.

"So… I just don't… see her that way." Gohan prayed to the endless heritage of gods he was aware of that this was enough to appease his friend. He was observent enough by now, though, to know the gods were never too invested in his well-being at any given moment.

"You're lying." Gohan opened his mouth to protest. Piccolo held his hand up to silence him.

"I don't care that you're lying about this." Piccolo said, "But you're lying."

Gohan rolled his eyes. Typical, know-it-all, extreme ki sensing Piccolo. "Then why bring it up?" he asked.

Piccolo never shrugged, but this would be when he did it. "Because. You're bad at. This."

What was today? Bruise his ego day? "How you would even know?"

"I keep tabs." Piccolo was a stalker in the extreme, Edward Cullen sense of the word. Maybe he'd make him read Twilight and help him understand the reality of acceptable behavior.

"That's creepy." Gohan said, hoping to take the conversation somewhere, anywhere else.

"I'm sorry." Gohan raised an eyebrow. "By the way," Piccolo continued, "What's her ki like right now?"

Gohan could feel the red in his ears. He chose not to comment. He chose, in fact, to fly off without another word. Another reason to love Piccolo- he'd never hold you accountable for randomly leaving a conversation about feelings.

As he flew around aimlessly, he wondered where to go next. He really wasn't up to going home, Bulma would be busy with her family, and all his civilian friends would have too many questions. His gut was telling him to go somewhere, but that was the one place he really didn't think he should be. And he kept thinking he should all the way to the city named after her father.

He slowed down as he approached the skyline. He didn't know why he wanted to see her. They talked near constantly on text, but he had zero practice talking to her without the web of lies he'd weaved. And he knew she wouldn't just let him be- she'd demand answers too, or she'd run scared and he'd have to jump off the edge of the earth. But he still made his way to her.

A part of him would like to call this a pull, like in the books- as something he couldn't fight, despite his best efforts, but it wasn't. He could turn back, he established. He just didn't want to. Besides, the pain in his chest wouldn't even begin until he actually saw her. At that point, he decided, he would be blameless. Right now he was just an ass who wanted to see his… flying student.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Gohan really wanted to be as un-creepy about this as possible, which is why he resolved to spend minimal time outside her balcony before making his presence known. Thankfully, her ki was traced to a substantial estate with no one around to see him land. He'd just about stepped onto the terrace outside her room, a deep blue curtain and a wall of glass separating his presence a secret when he suddenly became aware how close he was to her, when he found himself frozen. So much for not being creepy. He remembered when she first came to him for flying lessons.

The first night, out of boredom more than anything else, he tracked her as she departed for Satan City. He'd shared a quiet dinner with his family, and lost her ki somewhere around dessert. The next night, he'd made it till she hit the outskirts of the city, he was sure. The night after that was a rainy one, so no one could really blame him for redoubling his efforts- he'd seen her home that night.

He ran out of excuses for all the nights after that one, but suffice to say, following her ki had become second nature to him. He didn't understand why he did it every night, and he didn't quite understand how- he'd never been able to consistently track such a low ki signature before. But it made him feel better and Gohan had learnt not to question the very few things that made him feel better by now.

It was on the terrace that he realized he had no idea what he was going to say to her. And it was on that terrace, twenty feet from her, that he realized that the easy conversation they had once shared was possibly gone forever. She would have questions. She would ask about his powers, about his family, about (he flinched) the games. And then she would realize it was too much and she would leave, and she deserved the chance to figure that out.

But that just wasn't something he felt up to tonight. Not tonight, maybe not ever. As the sun started to go down and the lights in her room turned on, Gohan felt all the creepier and willed himself to fly away. He tried hard. There was no reason for him to be here and many reasons for him to leave. He didn't have his phone: she didn’t even get a courtesy text. But then he remembered who else was living under this roof- Majin Buu was excellent at concealing his ki- and it hit him again that she died, and suddenly he was right in front of the glass and he was tapping on it.

As he felt her ki fluctuate, he tried to figure out what she was thinking. It was dim and calm before; his tapping made it flare up. It had probably been a while since someone made it past her house security. He tapped again, soft and slow, rhythmically. The curtain was too thick to make out shadows. He heard her footsteps pad across the room, stand opposite him, and through the glass she called out softly, "Gohan?"

Human ears wouldn't have heard that. He'd missed how smart she was. Not that she'd been gone long, but. He'd missed her. He replied loud enough for her to hear, "Yeah,"

And then the curtain was pulled back and he saw her and then the door slid open and he couldn't move again. She could, though, and she grabbed his arm and he pretended she was able to pull him inside.

Her room was woodsy, he noted. Hardwood floors, wooden furniture, and warm lighting everywhere. He didn't know what he'd expected. He turned to see her looking at him, warily. Something in his chest growled. This close to her, he didn't know whether he was going to run away, or hold her down and keep her safe forever. Both ideas wouldn't bode well with her, so he just stood still.

"What's up?" she asked, voice casual and arms crossed tight. Legs planted firmly apart.

"Nothing, just," he shrugged, "Wanted to say hi."

"Well. Hi." As expressive as her eyes were, they were being kept carefully calm right now.

"Hi," he didn't quite know what to do with his hands. They felt heavy and clumsy hanging idle, "Um."

"Did-" Videl stopped short; swallowed. She walked to the large, four poster bed and sat down. She stared down at her hands.

Gohan's heart contracted. In an instant, was kneeling in front of her. Too fast. Frightened eyes met his and she jumped, scooting backwards on her elbows until her brain caught up with her instinct. She paused, "Sorry," she said.

Gohan didn't say anything. He didn't think anything. Videl was inches away- legs hanging off the bed and lying down, resting on her elbows and peering at him over her breasts. She'd changed into denim shorts and a blue cotton dress shirt. Her legs were bare up to the mid thigh. Gohan's hand was on her knee before he could catch himself, stroking back and forth up her thigh.

Videl's eyes widened, but she didn't respond. She was holding her breath, he knew. She'd started to tremble. He had all of three seconds to feel her silky skin before he realized what he was doing. He snatched his hand back.

"Sorry!" he stood up, took a few steps back. She kept staring at him. He felt his neck grow hot, "Um, I'm- I'm really sorry I didn't mean- I-" he hung his head, "Sorry."

Videl sat up, crossed her arms again. She cleared her throat. She hadn't smiled at him since they'd come back to life. "I… have questions."

"Of course," he agreed. He nodded earnestly. "You deserve answers."

"I know I do," she said. He heard her heartbeat start to stabilize, thankfully. It had been erratic since he'd made his presence known. He moved to sit on the bed next to her. She flinched, though she tried not to, and he froze in place. Her pulse was racing again. He wanted to punch himself. He backed up slowly.

"Maybe I should leave," he gestured to the balcony. He waited for her to stop him, to apologize, to demand the answers he had promised. She wasn't even looking at him anymore- her gaze was fixed on the floor.

"Well," he had to get out of here, before he lost his mind. He backed towards the door, stumbling on the rug on the floor as he walked out on unsteady legs. He took off the minute he was out of the room. The speed of it probably cracked the glass panel of the balcony. Great. One more thing he couldn't do right. He had to go see Bulma.


	4. Chapter 4

Gohan would have slept off the last week and woken up with a clear head, if he could. He would have felt better and turned his phone back on for the first time since the world tournament.

Instead, he just hung around Capsule Corp, brooding into the meals he ate alone at odd hours. He'd been right- there was no pushback to his decision to move there; Bulma had teared up and hugged his stiff form for a few moments. Gohan counted prime numbers up to one hundred and nine before she let go and told him which suite he could have. His mother put up the briefest of arguments, mentioning girls and drinking without her supervision, but trailed off mid-sentence. She felt guilty, he knew, about enjoying her husbands return, about not being angry enough with him for abandoning them, about willfully ignoring how Gohan was reacting to this.

Chichi came into his room the following evening, "Whatever makes you feel better, honey," she'd said, "Do you need help packing?"

He didn't need help packing, but Chichi hovered around regardless. He listlessly repeated the list of things he usually did around the house: farming, fishing, logging, plumbing- these were all things she'd have to walk Goku through now. He kept saying he was always a call away, to please call him if Goku got distracted, all the while tossing clothes and books into crates.

He hadn't spoken to Goku about the change in living arrangements. His mother could deal with that, at least. Goten didn't understand why he was moving. Gohan told him, over and over, that he had to move for his studies, all the while Goten cried into his lap. Gohan stroked his hair, softly, telling him having his own room was a lot of fun, that he'd get to come to Capsule Corp so much more often now, that he was sorry and he wished he didn't have to do this.

At that point, Goten lifted his head and yelled, "You don’t _have_ to do anything." and flew out the open window. He came back later that evening as Gohan was capsuling his luggage, to hug him goodbye, to demand promise after promise of visiting often, and to cling on to his leg until Gohan agreed he could come along and help him unpack.

His mother was weepy, but tried not to linger too long with her goodbye hug. His father had gone off fishing- a relief. He hoped they could continue flitting in and out of their loved ones' lives without having to interact much . Chichi was upset about this, though. She'd kept pursing her lips, not wanting to bring it up. He'd left her complaints unheard, managed to feel lighthearted with Goten, making him laugh while they unpacked, seeing him off with a cheery wave, and then mindlessly thumbing through a chemistry book until his smile faded and the heaviness in him set back in.

He pictured her ki as a red dot on an otherwise blue map sometimes. The dot would be blinking with what he imagined would be her heartbeat. He read through his book, only somewhat retaining information, looked up to realize it was 5 in the morning, and lay down on his new king-sized bed, exhausted.

It was a nice room. Correction- it was a luxurious room, with modern décor, and stacks of books and online courses Gohan had to master before being allowed to set foot in Bulma's labs, to boot. Less homey than the one he'd lived in with Chichi and Goten, but Gohan doubted any interior decorator would succeed on that front.

The rest of the week flew by in monotone. He got two hours of sleep a night before the nightmares hit. He sparred with Vegeta, going through the motions until he couldn't get back up. Bulma told him Videl called asking for him. He studied to fill the hours in the day. His mother called daily with menial updates. Bulma told him to turn his phone on. He went home twice that week for dinner to make sure everything was okay. He helped Trunks with his homework. Bulma threw the door of his room open, throwing a new phone at his face and giving him a look, Gohan catching the phone before it made impact, and closing his eyes until she closed the door behind her.

He tossed the new phone onto the plush carpet and took his old one out of his bedside drawer. It worked fine, after all. He stared at his reflection in the dark screen. He recalled the week again.

She wasn't crime fighting these days, thank gods. She was with other people quite a bit. At one point, Sharpener had spent a decent three hours alone with her, a point that was, Gohan reminded himself over and over, completely fine as he beat Vegeta bloody and the gravity room short-circuited. He wondered if she was talking about him. She wasn't home a lot; he suspected Hercule's new friend was keeping her away. She went to school. She wasn't training, however, which was worrying. She was having nightmares too, which killed him and only the fear he remembered in her eyes kept him away.

Bulma had told him to check his phone five times the last week. So, she knew he was here. And she had tried reaching out to him at least five times. He felt reassured then, that she wasn't forgetting him, that she hadn’t quite written him off yet, and he carefully let himself dwell in this reassurance while he turned his phone back on. Then he saw.

216 missed calls- Videl. 58 missed calls- Erasa. 43 missed calls- Sharpener. An assault of messages from the former two, wishing him well, asking how he was, why he dropped out of school. No messages from Videl, though. Gohan decided that was a bad sign. 

She was at some sort of gathering, probably a party. He called her twice, both times wishing she wouldn’t answer and both times getting his wish. He sent messages to Sharpener and Erasa to calm his nerves, apologized, reassured, and promised to explain himself. He was calling her again, beginning to regret his earlier wish and wondering why that was the one out of all his wishes that was granted, when she answered.

He waited for her greeting. And waited.

He hung his head, "I'm sorry," he said. That got him a response.

He heard her sigh, "What do you want, Gohan?"

Well, that was simple, but he wasn't ready for that rejection quite yet. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," She paused, took a breath, "Do you want me to leave you alone?" the sentence came out in a jumble, words unsteady.

The question threw him off, "What,"  he started, "do you mean?" _How could she think something so absurd_ , he wondered.

"You aren't saying no," Was it his imagination, or was there sadness under her accusatory tone.

"I- ," he ran a hand through his hair, "I don't want that at all."

"Why don't I believe you, then?" he wished he could see her face. Wished he was better at talking. He couldn't do this over the phone.

"I… I don't-" He spluttered. He couldn't find the words.

"That's what I thought." Leave it to her to sound both triumphant and grim. He missed her.

 "Can I come see you?" he tried. Last time he'd seen her things hadn’t gone so well, but this new medium had him more tongue-tied than ever.

She paused, "No," she said, and something in him unhinged, and threatened to send earthquakes through the city. He hoped a sleep-deprived version of him wouldn't try to barge into her bedroom late one night. He honestly wasn't quite sure how he would handle this. Probably not well, he figured.

"I'm coming over to Capsule Corp instead," she continued, and hung up promptly, leaving his mind blank, yet again. He considered himself a rational, intelligent being most days. It was time to conclude that there was a correlation between his off days and the days that had her in them.


	5. Chapter 5

Videl checked the distance from her location to the Corp again, copter swaying slightly in the stormy weather. She should never have drunk at that party. And she definitely shouldn't be drinking expensive champagne straight from the bottle as her copter's autopilot drove her to him.

She reflected, yet again, how very unlike her she was being right now. She was in control. She was invulnerable. She never did stupid, foolish things. She had a global image to maintain, after all.

Her head was already swimming slightly at the Gala she was forced to attend, the one with sly smiles and quiet whispers and secret deals of endorsements in exchange for cash and favors. While her father was busy in his throng of well-to-do businessmen and highly trained corporate and political representatives, Videl sat with the other teenagers. As a group, they really had nothing to do except toast their rebirth; mindless gossip seemed meaningless when you were brought back from the dead.

And so they drank as though this new life was really any different from the last, and Videl drank with them as well. As she downed her first glass of champagne, her usual string of admirers approached her, gaggle of young men more infatuated with her dad than anyone else and particularly unable to comprehend her lack of interest that night.

But there was no escape just yet, so she sipped her second glass and stared through the skylight at the starless sky. One of her not-so-terrible companions, a sandy-haired, honey-tongued college sophomore named Byron, or Brian, or something, parked himself next to her on the sofa.

He eyed her appreciatively as she pretended not to notice. "Reincarnation suits you, V," he said, "And so does the little number you're wearing."

She turned her head to face him, "My stylist will be thrilled to know. Impressing you was his number one goal tonight." She wished she could, for once, be assigned a stylist whose world didn’t begin and end with the phrase 'sex appeal'. For this party, she was in a dark blue halter dress, backless, cinched tight at the waist, flowing out and ending north of the knees. A dress designed to remind the world that she was indeed eighteen and 'fair game', as her stylist that so archaically put it.

Brady (or whoever) smirked at that, "Well, how about that?" he said, "Even your stylist knows we're endgame." Truth be told, he was trying his best to drawl, but Videl had heard drawls far above his level and wasn't about to grant him the satisfaction of being able to drawl, even in her head.

"Should have known you'd try to buy your way into my wardrobe choices," she returned easily, staring back at the ceiling. She hated the phantom figure she kept imagining flying through the sky, the flash of red and green. She drank more champagne.

"You wound me, sweet Vi," he chimed, "I'll make it through the walls around your heart, yet, though. It's my destiny." She felt him inch closer, glanced to her right and saw his so-called rivals glaring their way.

She glanced at his eyes, ready to scathe him into silence. Eyes that were light grey instead of dark, dark brown. And his face was all wrong, too much cleft in the chin. And his hair looked like it never got messy enough to defy gravity. And Videl found the cold sarcastic tone left her voice when she said, "You know, you're starting to sound like a one-dimensional side character," she put her glass down on a passing waiter's tray, accepted another glass. Two was her tolerance but what did it matter now.

"Can't blame a gentleman for being so enamored with you he forgets everything else," he quipped, never missing a beat. He would never be so cocky, Videl thought. Though she wouldn’t mind much if he did. She could sense her tongue loosening, feel her posture begin to slouch.

"But," he said, gently taking the delicate crystal from her hand, forcing her to pay attention to him once more, "Why is the too-virtuous-to-party Miss Satan drinking tonight?"

Because my heart hurts, "Because fuck you, is why."

Brad (probably) chuckled, "Are we missing a certain caped crusader tonight?"

"We," she matched his tone, "are wondering why my agency to drink is being denied tonight."

"Well, because I don’t think you'll let me see you home tonight, and there are a few folks here that would be quite," he fumbled for the words. Gohan would never fumble, "pleased to find you uninhibited."

Man had a point. And man wasn't a complete jackass. But man was still 90% jackass for assuming she couldn't handle herself. Videl snatched back her drink.

"Well, why don't I scream for help extra loud should anything happen and you can come right to my rescue?" she took a big gulp just to spite him. And realized that if this was reverse psychology, she had fallen right into his trap. She put the glass down on the table in front of them.

"Sounds like someone's a little too used to being rescued," he smiled knowingly. Videl dropped her eyes to the floor. For half a second she forgot he'd been dead. He was alive now, though. Alive and ignoring her. She heard her companion laugh.

"Figures the one person to steal your heart can fly and lift cars."

At that point, Videl snapped shining eyes back up. "Bold of you to assume you know shit, Bradley." They didn't even know each other, for gods' sake. Did everyone just assume she was head over heels for him? Who gave them the right. She was glaring at him when she felt her phone vibrate in her purse. He seemed nonplussed.

"Name's Barry, Vi," he said good naturedly, again deflating her rage. He didn’t seem to be looking to fight, just annoy, "But then the lovestruck get easily confused."

Videl shook her head. Something disgusting was welling up inside her, threatening to come out in tears and general vulnerability and Videl wasn't having any of that.

She stood up. Too fast. Her head swam. She was grateful her feels were low. "I have a call," she announced thickly. She wasn't going to be great at walking. "Walk me somewhere quiet."

"Magic word?"

"Barry."

He laughed, "I feel like we could be friends, Vi," he said as he led her to the balcony, "Actual friends."

"Until I realize it was you all along?" Videl set her gaze on her floor. The general atmosphere of the party was too bright, too colorful, too overwhelming. The glossy floor was safe.

"Always two steps ahead, V," he opened the balcony door. The crisp, fresh air felt cool on her cheeks, "Except now."

Videl laughed despite herself. Her phone was still buzzing. She pulled it out, stared at the caller I.D., forgot everything else.

Looked back up, "I would like," you to hold my hand and answer the phone for me, "Some privacy, please."

She smiled weakly at him when he gave a mock bow and retreated inside. Maybe they really could be friends. She turned her attention to her phone again. It had stopped ringing. She sighed.

Videl went to sit on a bench near the railing. Closed her eyes. Someone might come to get her soon. She should get some carbs and water in her system. But she didn’t move. What was he going to say? She wondered. Declarations of love, or at the least not dying again, flew about her mind and she felt more and more pathetic as the seconds flew by. And then her phone rang again.

This time she thought she should let it ring, after all. Let him suffer a little. Then answer and be the picture of indifference. So she was a little miffed when her hands betrayed her by letting the call through and putting the phone to her ear before the fifth vibration.

It was when she heard his voice for the first time in days, apologize, that all the uncertainty and anger and pain bubbled deep down in her stomach. She was tired of feeling. "What do you want?" she asked. She shook her head in an attempt to clear it, and the swirling started all over again.

She didn’t register much of the conversation, except him asking to come over. Right. So he could leave in 60 seconds flat again. No.

And she found herself stumbling out of the party, impromptu half-empty champagne bottle in hand, opening her copter capsule, punching in the co-ordinates to Capsule Corp- he hadn't even bothered telling her he'd moved, she'd had to hear it from a seven year old- and took a swig as the vehicle took off into the night.

Just her luck that he lived three hours away. And just her luck that she ran into a storm on the way, turning those three hours into four. Videl had time to sober up, feel foolish, get nervous as she approached the Corp, and get drunk all over again.

Funny enough, Gohan hadn't called her after she'd hung up. If he thought she was bluffing, he had another thing coming. If he was sleeping, she would break the fucking champagne bottle over his head. He wouldn’t even feel it.

Her shoulders felt cold again, as she drifted back to that day, where he was alive and she let him know how upset she was and she let everyone else know and she thought he would at least put his hands on her shoulders like he used to when he was teaching her fly, but he hadn't. And everyone else gave her those pitying smiles and she still didn't care, still made him promise to text her- he hadn't, fucking liar- and then.

Videl didn’t like thinking about when he came to see her. She was on edge. She wasn't scared of him, not when he could lift buses, and not now. But she was on edge, and out of practice separating the real from the unreal, and then he moved too fast, and then.

She squeezed her eyes shut. His hand was hot on her thigh, she remembered. Both senses of the word. Why she wasn't able to move then, she didn't know. She'd placed her own hand over that spot many times since, but it was always cold compared to his.

Videl pushed the thought out of her head. Imagined balling it up and throwing it away. She may have play-acted the actions, just to make it stick. She was going there to yell.

As she saw the foggy image of the enormous dome that represented Capsule Corp materialize into view, Videl realized it was Four a.m. She would have to wake him up, for sure. She hoped she could walk. She hadn't drunk enough to black out, but she also hadn't eaten in a very long time.

Videl wondered if she was going to cry. She hoped not. She'd cried enough the past week. She also realized she was hoping quite a bit right now, and sometimes about things her dignity would never even allow her to think about consciously, and she willed herself to stop. She was in control. She didn’t need him. She was going to soothe her bruised ego by hurling some choice insults at him, and leave.

The copter parked itself outside the visitors office (praise technology). Videl stepped out gingerly, listening to muted thunder and counting seven drops of rain hitting her head by the time she entered the small lobby.

The woman at the desk, and two security guards she was met with looked at her with disdain. She imagined she looked quite the spectacle- skimpy dress, slow, deliberate steps, and a face she was sure betrayed a little of her intoxication. She hadn't worn her coat out of the Gala, it occurred to her.

She made it to the desk, placing palms flat on the counter. She hadn't been thrown out yet. She attributed that to good ol' Satan fame. "Son Gohan is expecting me," she said.

"He hasn't left word with us, Miss Satan," the woman replied. She was very polite for someone whose primary job was turning away prying journalists. Videl commended her, "I commend your courtesy," she said.

The woman didn’t crack a smile. How very professional. Videl supposed she was too well-paid to take a bribe. Besides, she left her purse in her jet-copter. She tried another angle, possibly the only realistic one.

"Could you call him and check?" she asked, "He should really stop being so forgetful," she added for good measure.

While the woman dialed a code into the terminal in front of her and quietly spoke into her headset, Videl turned her attention to the wall-sized painting behind the desk. Pointillism, she figured. Or her vision was more addled than she previously thought. She'd strain to hear what he was saying, but she wasn't about to give him the satisfaction. Besides, he wasn't even audible enough to tempt the likes of her.

"Okay, go right ahead," The woman announced. Apparently it really would kill her to smile, "You'll be escorted, of course."

Of course happened to be one of the two gentlemen in suits, umbrella in hand. They were normal-sized enough for her to believe they were hired for skill rather than brawn. Her 'escort' held the door open for her (nice man), led her into the structure, past multiple hallways she couldn’t be bothered to remember as she stared at the ground once more, and finally to a sleek white door.

It was there he should have left her, but he knocked on the damned door for her (men), nodded and left, leaving Videl to suffer the consequences.

It's okay, she told herself, Fuck him, fuck everyone, you can do this. She squared her shoulders, planted her feet, faced the door. And then it opened.


End file.
